It was getting late and she wanted to be out, but pride dictated that rice was to be bought in Asian stores and couscous in North African stores, and little boxes of the two were only for tersa gourmets. So the dark-haired woman put away the quick-serve meals back on the shelves and maneuvered her way around the bustling supermarket, looking for items that didn't require a special trip.

Once in the checkout line she put on the leather jacket she had tossed off because the large overcrowded room was too hot, and glanced at the piles of tabloids around her. One of the headlines caught her eye: Sandiego's Secret Love Affair with Jordan. She shuddered and wiped her hands on her jeans even though she had not touched the magazine. The things people came up with…and the sad part was that there were plenty of people out there that would actually believe it.

Another one caught her eye, this one because it had a photograph of two kids that were now quite familiar to her. This one she picked up and tossed into her shopping cart. She probably knew an awful lot more about them than any hack writer, but she was curious to see how other people interpreted them. After everything had been paid for, she zipped up her jacket, pulled down over her blue eyes the sunglasses that had been perched on the top of her head.

George Malzeen had never been very smart. Or very brave. He also had a weak stomach, which was why he got bumped from the little backstreet gang that he had been hanging around with for the past couple of months. So when he bumped into an old bouncer friend of his one night and was informed of the chance for relatively safe, easy work that had no blood involved, George was all ears.

Of course, his friend Al always managed to forget a few major details. When Al introduced him to "the boss", who crisply told him not to call her that, he stared at the woman in front of him with an odd mixture of trepidation and respect. She gave him an interview that he didn't remember much about, except that she smiled when he fidgeted and told him that he needn't be so nervous. He made the cut.

The first thing George learned was that even though he and his comrades were collectively and impersonally known to law enforcement as "Carmen's henchmen," each person was treated as an individual. His dark-haired new boss made polite conversation with him concerning his past life, and urged him to speak with her if he ever had a problem. She laid down the basic rules, then said to him, "Your friend can tell you everything else you need to know. But if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me." George was still in a state of shock at his unusual fortune and Al had to lead him out of the room.

They entered a much larger room, where a group of men and a few women were sitting around, talking, or playing cards. Al introduced George to everyone in the room, then sat him down with a group that was playing cards.

"What do you think of your new boss?" one of them demanded. There were several snickers all round the room.

"She's....different," George offered. Everyone roared with laughter.

"Aye, that she is," said one with a Scottish accent. "Ye'll find that out soon enough."

"Yes," said another. "Verra much so."

George blinked. "Is that bad? I mean, I thought working for Carmen was the best work someone this side of the law could get."

"Very true," said someone who looked like they'd been through the wringer, though their tattered clothes seemed to be a matter of choice than consequence. "You just have to know. Know her, I mean. She has many strange quality."

"Strange qualities?" George demanded. "Like what?"

"Well, there's her dislike of violence," Al began. "That's part of the draw of the job, though. You don't have to bump anybody off. As a matter of fact, if you ever did, she'll roundabout you."

"Roundabout?" George asked. "What's that mean?"

"Police word," the tattered man explained. "You ever kill, she knows, you in jail."

"She used to work for those Acme people, the Friscans, you know," Al explained. "And she's still got a few little Friscan quirks."

"Yes, and she's very protective of other Friscans as well," the Scottish man cut in. "Ye must be very careful around the Friscans."

"You can't hurt the buggers," said a British man. "If she sees as much as a bruise on a kid that you shoved to try to save your neck from capture..."

"...You're up the river!" a powerfully muscled woman with a brash voice proclaimed. "And you can't say anything about them, either. Right, Mr. I-Was-Only-Kidding?"

Al glared at her. "You're the one who started the Poison Ivy jokes, Darene. I just got lucky when she walked in and asked to me explain what we were doing."

"And you had such a charming explanation," the woman continued. "And the more creative you got, the more interesting Carmen's expressions got."

"Boy, if looks could kill!" one of them exclaimed.

"You'll want to mark that," the British man said to George. "She can speak volumes with her eyes, though you can't see them half the time. They'll tell you what she's about to say before she says it. And they flash a certain way when she gets mad, so you'll have just enough time to jump back."

"Don't worry," said Al, noting George's expression. "She doesn't get mad often...though when she does, look out. Anyhow, she'll give you lots of leeway. You're green, after all."

"She's generally a lot nicer than anyone else you could work for," the brash woman told him. "She's got a healthy bite with sarcasm, though."

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